


Any Given Thursday

by t_fic (topaz), topaz, topaz119 (topaz)



Series: Turkey Day [1]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: First Time, Friends to Lovers, Holidays, M/M, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-10
Updated: 2007-12-10
Packaged: 2017-10-12 05:03:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/121087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/topaz/pseuds/t_fic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/topaz/pseuds/topaz, https://archiveofourown.org/users/topaz/pseuds/topaz119
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It could have happened any day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Any Given Thursday

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in late 2007, back when a fifth season was as likely as the Js actually living together, koff. 

American Thanksgiving's never been a big thing around the set. They take a day for the Canadian holiday, but by the time the US version rolls around, they're into the final push toward finishing the first half of the season and everyone's about ready to hit the wall. The first year, he and Jared were so stunned from the weekly grind, neither one of them would have even noticed the holiday if they hadn't been getting score updates on the Cowboys-Lions game while they were sitting around between setups.

The second year, Sandy flew up to hang out with Jared, and Jensen ended up going to Tom and Jamie's for a late dinner, which was nice, because you could always count on things at Tom's working out the way they were supposed to, but the whole thing wasn't much more than a blip on the radar. The third year was the strike and everyone was half-crazy, and the fourth year, Jared and Sandy were in the middle of figuring out that they were better as friends than they'd ever been as a couple, which ended up working out really well, but was more or less the definition of living hell while it was happening.

Jensen doesn't expect this year to be any different, even if it is their fifth season and they're hitting a hundred episodes, which translates to syndication deals and everyone mellowing out some. He actually chokes on his coffee when Eric calls in to the Monday script read-through to give everyone the heads-up that they're only going 3 days that week. Jared claps him on the back, hard enough to knock him flat and maybe give him a minor concussion because he's almost positive he's hearing Jared inviting everyone to his place for a real Texas Thanksgiving, which somehow features deep-fried turkey.

"Who's cooking?" Jensen finally sorts out his breathing and it comes out more abruptly than he intended, but Jared just grins big and throws his arms out wide.

"You impugning my kitchen skills, man?"

"I would be, but you'd have to have some first," Jensen answers, and laughs when Jared flips him off. Nobody else is listening to him, though. People are already talking about what they can bring, and one of the PAs is actually starting a sign-up sheet. Jensen is about to start checking for hidden cameras and shit, because no way is this for real, but then Kim clears his throat in that way that says _don't we have work to do?_ and everything settles back into normal Monday mode.

 

*

They fax up more script changes during the day, and Jensen ends up with a serious chunk of new dialog to deal with that night. They're not shooting everything immediately, of course, but he hates feeling unprepared, so he waves off Jared's invitation to come hang with him and the dogs in favor of room service and some quality time with the new pages.

He falls asleep on top of the covers somewhere around the middle of the final act and jolts awake at six the next morning with the last few pages stuck to his face and his phone blaring _Sharp-Dressed Man_.

"Get out of bed, Jensen." Jared doesn't even wait for him to grunt before the phone goes dead. Jensen tosses it back on the table and tries to remember that it's a good thing to be working. At least he'd ditched his contacts for glasses before he started reading, so his eyes aren't killing him.

He stumbles into the shower and makes it downstairs in time to grab coffee before the car with Jared and the dogs arrives to take them all out to the location shoot. Harley snuffles and whines from where he's draped across Jared's lap, and Sadie noses her way up under Jensen's hand, looking up anxiously at him until he scratches her behind the ears and shifts over enough that she can put her head on his knee. Jared grunts something that he interprets as Jared having had about as exciting of a night as he did and Chuck switches the radio from the obnoxious morning drive team to something low and bluesy.

It's warm and dim inside the SUV, and the hiss of tires on the wet pavement is the best kind of hypnotic white noise. When Sadie yawns and Jared follows her lead, Jensen laughs a little.

"Chuck, man, I hope you got a decent night's sleep, because everybody back here's gonna be out cold in about ten seconds."

"You might as well," Chuck answers, grinning in the rearview mirror. "It'll take us about an hour to get out there; no sense wasting prime sleeping time."

"I knew I liked him," Jared mumbles, before his breathing goes slow and heavy. Jensen lets it lull him into a doze, not quite sleep, but relaxed and easy and familiar.

*

Suzie and Shelly in makeup are settled into their trailer by the time Chuck drops him and Jared off; it's bright and cheery and _loud_ after the sleepy car trip. Jared gets shaved, then goes off to deal with the dogs while Suzie fusses at Jensen for a half-dozen crimes he's apparently committed against his skin--and she doesn't even know about sleeping with his face smashed in the script. He settles back and lets them do their thing, zoning out until something pokes him in the shoulder and he snaps back to the here and now to see everyone looking at him expectantly.

"Um, ow?" he manages, rubbing at where the business end of a makeup brush damn near made a divot in his arm.

"I _said_ , what are you bringing?" Shelly says, with exaggerated patience. "To Jared's, idiot."

"I'm, uh, I'm the back-up," Jensen answers, thinking fast, because seriously? He's supposed to bring something? "You know, so if we end up with not enough of something, I get whatever that is."

"You're bringing ice, aren't you?" Suzie says, rolling her eyes at Shelly. "Just like my brother. We can be feeding forty people and he'll show up with a bag of ice."

Jensen would defend himself, but since this is the first he's even thought about it at all, he figures even being the pathetic ice-bringer is better. He lets the rest of them bitch him out until Jared and the dogs arrive and Harley slips his leash and comes charging up into the trailer. By the time order's restored and Jared's successfully ducked Shelly's smacks for messing up her little domain, Jensen and his lack of potluck ability are off the short list of discussion topics.

He doesn't forget about it, though. No matter what they're doing--lighting, blocking, continuity, whatever--someone's got something they want to talk to Jared about. Jensen knows the stunt guys are chipping in on a couple of smoked salmon and that the sound team wants to make sure Jared's got enough power to handle a sound board for the karaoke, but when he overhears Kim asking his assistant if she can find any wild rice so he can make his mom's recipe, it's pretty much the blinking neon light telling him how lame he is.

He thinks on it all day, and finally sticks his head in Jared's trailer while they're waiting for Chuck to pick them up.

"So, Martha, what do you need me to bring?"

Jared's in the middle of stripping off Sam and pulling on one of his own ugly-as-fuck shirts; he shakes his hair out of his eyes and reaches for the ratty old sweater Jensen gave him the first season, when he'd been half-afraid they were going to lose Jared to the Canadian winter.

"Are you kidding?" Jared snorts. "Have you been listening to all this? I think we've got enough food to take care of half the city. You're totally off the hook."

"Okay, yeah." Jensen shrugs, pushing down the weird disappointment. "If you think of something--"

"Yeah, absolutely," Jared says. "And you're coming, right? I mean, you're not gonna bail on me?"

"Oh, hell, no," Jensen says, smiling. "No way I'm gonna miss you playing host to the entire fucking crew."

"All right, then." Jared smiles and there's a thump on the door and someone yelling that the car's there, and they're finally done for the day.

*

Jensen doesn't have early call on Wednesday and ordinarily he'd be all about the extra sleep, but his brain must have absorbed some ridiculous overdose of Southern hospitality from all his female relatives, because it wakes him up at 7 a.m. so he can have time before Chuck shows up to figure out something he can take to Jared's the next day.

He starts to ask the front desk to take care of it, but that feels like cheating, so he smiles weakly at the concierge and beats a quick retreat out through the lobby and onto the street, waving off the doorman's offer to get him a cab.

There's absolutely nothing Jared needs; Jensen's seen the pages-long list and someone's even bringing after-dinner mints. So if there's nothing Jared needs, Jensen's brain explains, semi-patiently and in his mother's long-suffering voice, that leaves it to Jensen to bring something Jared doesn't even know he wants. Which he can do. Absolutely. Nobody knows Jared better than Jensen. He's got two hours and the entire city of Vancouver to choose from.

*

He's late getting back, of course. Chuck's double-parked and Jensen can see his fingers drumming an impatient rhythm on the steering wheel as Jensen slides to a halt next to the SUV and yanks open the passenger-side door. It's just him today--Jared's been on-set since dawn--so he'll ride shotgun.

"Sorry, man. Sorry, sorry," Jensen pants, and Chuck grunts and throws the car in gear even before he gets the door closed.

"Hold on," he says. "We might make it in time but it's gonna be close." He glances over to make sure Jensen's got his seatbelt on. "I was gonna ask if whatever it was was gonna be worth Kim yellin' at the both of us, but from the shit-eating grin you're wearing, I'm gonna say yes."

Jensen thinks of the deliveries set up for the next morning and grins. "Absolutely, man, and I already called and let Kim bitch me out for being late."

"All right, then." Chuck shakes his head. "Shut up and let me drive and we'll call it even. At least I don't got to deal with those dumb mutts on this trip."

Jensen shuts up but he's still smiling when he gets out of the car at the studio.

*

Jared's still answering questions and giving directions every time they have a minute between takes. It's impossible to get him alone to talk, but when Jensen gets out of the shower at the end of the day, Jared's sprawled on the couch, playing with a spare set of Dean's knives.

"Hey," Jared says, not looking up. "I was thinking--"

"Alert the media," Jensen deadpans, and ducks the pillow that comes flying his way.

"Dick," Jared says, without heat. "What--I mean, about tomorrow. Do you think it'd be easier if you crashed at the house tonight?"

"This is a trick question, right?" Jensen dumps the day's jeans and flannel shirt into the laundry bag for wardrobe. "I mean, what you're really asking is if I want to come be slave labor to help you get ready."

"Yeah, kind of," Jared mumbles. "It's just, this all got a little crazy and I thought having somebody around to tell me what a dumbass I am might keep me from going completely nuts, but I get that it's not--"

"Jay," Jensen sighs, because he seriously cannot deal with the miserable look on Jared's face, the one that just about took up permanent residence while he and Sandy had been sorting things out. "Don't be any more of a dumbass than you already are." He smacks the back of Jared's head and heads toward the door. "Let's go see if Chuck'll give me ten minutes to grab a change of clothes. Nothing I've got out at your place is going to work for a 'real Texas Thanksgiving.'"

He makes air quotes and rolls his eyes, but Jared's smiling again, so everything's fine.

*  
Jensen's happy to find out that Jared's been scrambling like a madman and has a catering place sending someone over in the morning to deal with all the practical details of having sixty-something people show up for dinner. That means he's there mostly to help move anything potentially breakable into Jared's bedroom and turn the living room into a dedicated viewing area.

"I figure you get living room duty," Jared says as they shove the furniture around.

"Cowboys on the plasma screen?" Jensen says. "Works for me."

"Yeah, I figured it might." Jared grins. "Thanks, man."

"No problem, dumbass."

*

Karen, the caterer, arrives at oh-dark-thirty the next morning with a tray of JJ Bean's Guatemalan Roast, a trailer full of rented tables and chairs, and an honest-to-fucking-god tent, which is probably a good thing, considering it's November and Vancouver and Jared keeps revising the estimated guest list up. They're at 68 already; there's no way everyone's going to fit inside.

"Yeah, no, sure, it's fine," Jared's saying into his cell as Jensen comes down from the shower. "The more, the merrier, right? See you in a couple of hours." He closes the phone and shakes his head at Jensen. "Did I miss something? It's a day off and everybody wants to come hang out here?"

"Don't get too excited, but I think you're a lock for Miss Congeniality." Jensen laughs at Jared trying to flip him the bird without Karen seeing him, especially since Jensen's already heard her go off spectacularly when the wiring for the tent kept tripping the circuit breakers. "It'll be fine, Jay."

Jared starts to answer but then his phone rings again and Jensen goes to see how Harley and Sadie are doing with all the commotion. Predictably, they're cool with it--they spend too much time on set to get wound up at a couple of guys building a tent in their backyard--but Jensen decides he might as well take them for a run anyway. It's not raining hard and it's not like it's going to get all that much warmer during the day. He snags the leashes and catches Jared's eye as he lets himself be towed out the front door. Jared waves, but he's still on the phone so it's just Jensen and Sadie and Harley in the cold drizzle.

Jensen keeps them moving--Harley, especially, likes to go haring off after new and interesting scents--because it's fucking freezing, and he loves the dumb dogs, he really does, but he doesn't have gloves and his fingers are going to take an hour to thaw out as it is. They come back around the corner just in time to see Jared watching a couple of guys hauling boxes off the back of a delivery truck.

"Jensen!" Jared yells, like Harley isn't dragging Jensen straight for him and he might not see him otherwise. "Dude, this is, like, I don't know what," he babbles, waving at the liquor boxes stacked neatly on hand trucks waiting to go up the front walk.

Jensen shrugs and works on catching his breath from the final sprint. "No problem. I figured even if you had stuff, a couple of more cases weren't going to be a problem with this crew."

"No shit, man," Jared laughs. "God, seriously. What was I thinking?"

"Dumbass," Jensen agrees and then can't help but grin, because the guys are unloading the final boxes, the ones that aren't from the liquor store.

Jared eyes them suspiciously but then cracks up when he pulls out a string of the tackiest chili pepper lights Jensen could find. It's even better when he starts counting boxes. "Holy shit, Jen, did you buy out the entire city?"

"Nah," Jensen answers. "I only bought a thousand." He waits a beat before he adds, "Strings."

"Which makes…?"

"Ten thousand lights." Jensen gives Jared his best choirboy look. "Best get to hanging them."

Jared looks from the boxes to Jensen to his house and back to the boxes and then sits down on the cold, wet ground and laughs himself silly. The dogs nose around him but finally decide nothing's wrong. The delivery guys are kind of giving him a wide berth, though.

"Wait," Jensen says, as soon as he thinks Jared might actually be listening. "That's only those boxes."

"There's more?"

Jensen points to the other ten boxes, the ones marked _FRAGILE_ , and gives Jared a hand up. As Jared rips into the top box, Jensen pulls out his cell phone and flips it open to the camera. If he's lucky, he'll get new wallpaper out of this. If he's _really_ lucky, everyone Jared knows will be getting a fabulous video in their inboxes this Christmas season.

Jared paws around in the box, sending Styrofoam packing flying, before he lifts out the first piece, the certified authentic Hawthorne Village Christmas Cottage, signed and numbered.

"Oh, you fucker," Jared says, his voice that calm, hushed tone that says _Game on, dickhead_. Jensen holds it together long enough to pan up nice and tight to the disbelieving look on Jared's face but then it's his turn to sit down and laugh.

*

The rest of the morning's a blur of wrapping chili pepper lights around anything that stands still long enough to be decorated. Karen had looked at the complete Thomas Kincade Lighted Cottage collection, all eighteen pieces of it (including bonus village Christmas tree and carolers), with obvious disbelief, but she'd cleared space on the buffet tables willingly enough. The lights, though--they were on their own there.

They're still stringing them along the roof line, Jensen standing on Jared's shoulders, muttering curses and threats about what he'll do if Jared drops him while Jared answers with insults and promises to hide every last damn gummi bear, when the first cars pull up.

"Oh," Jared's saying, and he's finally standing still but Jensen isn't getting the feeling that it's for a good reason even before Jared finishes up with, "Uh, hey, Kim."

Jensen risks a look down, right in time to see Kim getting out of the car. He manages a smile, but it's weak.

Kim eyes them both as he walks by, muttering, in that oh-so-Kim voice, the one that can have forty people moving at a dead run, "I'll break every last bone in your bodies if you fall and mess up my shooting schedule."

"Got it," Jared says.

"No problem," Jensen agrees and reaches to plug the last strings of lights into the extension cords. They manage not to trip any more circuit breakers and Jensen declares the decorating efforts done. Jared turns the smile up to about a nine, and a half-blinded PA who's new to the set--Jilly or Jessie or Janey, neither one of them is quite sure yet--takes their picture in front of the lights before they split up, Jensen toward the house and Jared around the back to desecrate a half-dozen turkeys.

Jensen's afraid Kim might choke when he sees the lit-up village lining the buffet tables. He claps Jensen on the back, hard enough to nearly knock him across the tent and says, "You make sure those get back to the studio and you'll never have an early call on any of my shoots again."

"Like I'm going to argue with that," Jensen answers, and Kim wanders off, snickering under his breath. Jensen can't wait to see where the cottages end up.

There's a steady stream of people arriving after that. Nobody actually cares all that much about the Cowboys, but they all pile into the house anyway. Jensen hangs out in the living room, directing people back to where Jared's, yes, really and truly deep-frying turkeys, and keeping an eye on the TV screen and Romo's comeback from knee surgery. Aside from that, he doesn't have to do much other than stick his head into the kitchen whenever the drinks and snacks start running low and let Karen hand over refills. It's not a bad way to spend an afternoon, all hibernating impulses aside.

Once they hit halftime, though, the noise level starts getting out of hand. He grabs two Lone Stars and navigates his way through the crowd reheating things in the kitchen and out the back door. Jared's huddled under a giant pink golf umbrella, a parting gift from Rosenbaum.

"Dude," Jared says, fumbling with gloves and the twist-off top on the bottle. "It's fucking cold out here."

"It's _Vancouver_ , dumbass," Jensen answers. "Keep that in mind the next time you offer to deep-fry turkey for seventy-four people."

"Eighty-one," Jared sighs. "I invited my neighbors, too." The turkeys bubble and hiss in the deep kettles. "I got three done, and these three have maybe another half-hour, if I don't freeze first."

"At least it's kinda quiet out here."

"Getting out of control inside?"

"Nah," Jensen says. "Or, well, the football crowd is fine and I don't think we really have to worry, but there's something going on with, like, half the women in there. I don't get how a bunch of girls sitting around knitting can make so much noise."

"Stitch'n'bitch," Jared says, nodding his head and drinking his beer. Jensen sticks his hands in his pockets to try and keep them warm. The turkeys bubble along. After a couple of minutes, Jensen says, "This is it? You're just standing around out here watching turkeys fry?"

Jared shrugs. "Once you get them going, you have to make sure nothing catches on fire."

"Very manly," Jensen says, and it gets quiet again, until the back door bangs open and Shelly from makeup yells that the game's back on.

"Your cue," Jared says. "Be nice to the knitting freaks."

"Enjoy the rain, popsicle boy," Jensen answers, collecting the empties and heading back into the mob scene.

*

The Cowboys win, Jared manages not to freeze, nothing catches on fire, Jensen doesn't get stabbed by any knitting needles, and Karen herds everyone out to eat in the tent with an efficiency that has Kim ready to offer her a job if she ever decides to switch careers.

Even having seen the lists and watched everyone come trooping into the house with dishes and bags and boxes, Jensen's still amazed at the shitload of food Karen's managed to get laid out. In the middle of what definitely qualifies as a small riot, people asking who made what and what's in it, Jared stands up on a chair and hollers for quiet. Jensen braces for a dorktastic speech, but Jared just looks around with that impossible-to-resist grin on his face and says, "Thanks for coming, y'all. Let's eat."

This deep in the shooting schedule, Jensen's so used to craft services and take-out that he forgets what normal food tastes like. It's not his mom's cooking--which is actually not a bad thing, God love his mom; but she's scary in the kitchen--or his grandmother's, but it's really freaking good, even Jared's deep-fried turkeys. He hesitates only briefly before he goes back for a third plate.

The sound guys get the karaoke wired up and Jensen adds to his video blackmail collection, but things start winding down pretty early. It's a Thursday night, after all, and Jared's neighbors, while invited, do have to work the next day, so most of the crew is heading for Hamilton Street before ten. Jensen's about to ask Kim for a ride back into the city when Harley decides that an entire day of behaving like he has a brain is too much to ask and goes charging off into the darkness after something. Jared's back on Suzie-Homemaker duty, saying his good-byes and thank-yous, so Jensen grabs a flashlight and a fleece and goes out after the mutt.

After ten minutes of swearing under his breath and trying to whistle quietly enough that nobody calls the cops on him and not one glimpse of the dumb dog, Jensen's phone rings and Jared tells him Harley's scratching at the back door, playing up the _Dude, I got me some_ look. Jensen bites his tongue and doesn't suggest Jared throttle him and Jared has coffee laced with Irish whiskey waiting for Jensen when he gets back.

Karen stops on her last loop through the house to confirm with Jared that he'll have someone there in the morning when she's sending people to strike the tent, and then she's gone and it's quiet for the first time in what feels like days.

Jared puts his head down on the kitchen table and Jensen props his feet up on a second chair and breathes for a while. Even the dogs are settled, finally. There's a paper plate of maple cookies on the table and Jensen thinks about having one, but that would mean he'd have to move and it's kind of nice just sitting there.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" Jared's voice is muffled.

"As close to nothing as I can get away with," Jensen answers. He might not even turn the TV on. Or shower.

"Stay with me," Jared says, softly enough that if he hadn't lifted his head, Jensen knows he wouldn't have heard a thing. He's not entirely sure he's hearing things right even with that. _Stay with me_ , not _crash here, man_ and Jared's looking at him, eyes dark and serious. Jensen can't look away, almost can't breathe.

"Jay," he starts, but Jared interrupts him.

"I know," he says, still quiet enough that Jensen almost leans forward. "It's a bad idea. Work and our families and everything."

They've been living in each other's back pockets for almost five years and Jensen's only seen this look in Jared's eyes once before, the night Jared had been sitting on the floor outside Jensen's front door, a fifth of tequila already half-gone when Jensen had found him, the night Jared hadn't said anything but, _I can't be what she wants and it's fucking killing me, Jen,_ and the two of them had finished the bottle.

"I know all that, but I want it anyway," Jared says now.

There are a million things Jensen could say, that he _should_ say, that he fully intends on saying, but what comes out when he opens his mouth is, "Me, too."

"But?" The tension's coming off Jared in waves, but his voice is calm and controlled. "You want it, too, but…?"

Jensen figures that later, maybe next week or next month, whenever his brain starts working again, he's going to be stunned by how he doesn't even think about taking the out Jared's offering him. Right now, he only says, "No buts," and reaches across the table to run his thumb over the inside of Jared's wrist. His heart is pounding as fast as Jared's pulse, but he's doesn't have to think hard to realize how really fucking happy he is that the words are out there.

"Okay," Jared says, taking a deep breath. "I--you. Okay." He keeps looking down at where Jensen's still stroking the his wrist and then back up at Jensen's face, like one or the other of them is going to disappear. "Stop, you have to stop now," he says, but if he thinks Jensen has _any_ control over his hands, he's out of his fucking mind.

"Jensen," he says, covering Jensen's hand with his own and apparently not noticing that Jensen still isn't stopping. "You--if you don't stop touching me…"

"What, Jay?" Jensen is actually curious, with the small part of his brain that hasn't been taken over with the feel of Jared's skin under his own. "If I don't stop touching you, what?"

" _This_ ," Jared gasps, coming out of his chair and across the table, strength and power and need, and Jensen's never thought about kissing Jared, not in any detail beyond, _Yeah, hot, but probably never going there_ , but now that they're doing it, he's not sure he's ever going to stop, stop doing it, stop thinking about it, stop planning ways to get to do it more.

"God, Jen," Jared pants against his mouth. "Wanted this for so long, wanted _you_." Jensen doesn't bother with talking, just bites his way along the line under Jared's jaw, doubling back to the spots that make Jared all but vibrate under him, working them again and again, until Jared twists around and catches his mouth in a hard kiss.

It's Jensen who stops this time, cupping the back of Jared's head to keep him close. "We doin' this here, Jay?" he says, Texas heavy in his voice like it hasn't been in a long, long time. "Right here, on the table?"

Jared grins at him. "That's what I was tryin' to tell you, before, why I wanted you to stop." He bites his own path along Jensen's jawline. "But, hey, feel free to continue."

Jensen waits until Jared settles down some--which isn't exactly a hardship, not with the way Jared seems determined to taste every square inch of Jensen's skin--before he slides his fingers into Jared's hair and tugs gently.

"You done this before?" he asks. "With a guy?"

"Maybe," Jared says. "Maybe not as much as you, but yeah, some. Enough to know I like it."

"You want it here, Jay?" Jensen leans back a little, enough that he can catch Jared's eye. "You want me to suck you off right here in your kitchen?"

"Fuck, Jensen," Jared groans and explodes into action again, manhandling Jensen off the table and down the hallway, his hand so tight around Jensen's wrist that Jensen knows he'll be bruised in the morning. Something low in his gut coils tight at the thought.

There's still a coat rack in the spare bedroom, and some forgotten sweaters on the bed. Jared clears them to the floor with one quick sweep of his arm and Jensen pushes him down.

"Right there," he says, edging Jared's legs apart enough that he can stand between them. Jared moans low in his throat when Jensen goes to his knees, and Jensen stops working the button on his jeans open to grin up at him. "Like's got nothing on what I want to do to you."

He gets Jared's jeans open and down past his hips, far enough that he can work, but still high enough that Jared can't move much.

"I want to make you scream, Jay," Jensen whispers, mouthing the hard line of Jared's cock through the thin cotton knit, sucking lightly at the damp spot. "Want you to come so hard you won't be able to see."

Jensen fucking loves the way Jared's hips arch up while he's talking, like Jared can't help himself, enough that when Jared shoves at his boxers, Jensen doesn't smack his hand away and make him wait. When he wraps one big hand around his dick, though, that's a little much.

"Jared," Jensen says, digging his fingers into the strong muscles high on Jared's thigh. "If I wanted to you to put on a show for me--and I do, Jay, I really do, want to see how you do yourself, what you look like when you come on your hand--if I wanted that now, I would have said it."

Jared whines, but lets his hand drop down on the bed, and Jensen kitten-licks across the head of his dick in reward. "Good boy," he murmurs, glancing up. Jared's flushed and panting, mouth red and swollen from kissing, and for a split-second, Jensen wants to pinch himself to make sure he's not hallucinating.

"God, do it, Jen, quit fucking around," Jared growls. There's a desperate edge to his voice that goes straight to Jensen's dick, but when he drops his head back and whispers, "Please," Jensen can't remember a time when he's wanted to make it good for whoever he was with more than he does now.

Fast and hot is never a bad thing, Jensen thinks, but there's a dizzying freedom in not needing to rush. Nobody's waiting on them or needs them or expects them to be anywhere. It's him and Jared and all the time they want to take with each other. He leans in and relaxes his throat and takes Jared deep as slow and smooth as he can.

"So good, Jen, god, so good." Jared's voice is hoarse and the muscles next to Jensen are tense and hard, but then his hands slide over Jensen's hair, stroking and petting with a gentle touch. Jensen keeps his rhythm steady, easy, winding Jared up until his words stutter out to nothing more than _Fuck, baby, please_ and then dropping back to start all over again.

Jared lets him do that twice, but the third time Jensen starts easing off, Jared growls and his nails dig firm into Jensen's scalp, holding him in place while his hips push up. Jensen's been waiting for that, but it's still like raw electricity dancing across his nerves and he doesn't bother trying to hold back the greedy, encouraging noises he's making every time Jared fucks into his mouth.

Jared shifts and moves under him, the two of them working the angles until it's perfect, Jared's cock hitting the back of his throat with every thrust, his hands steadying Jensen's head and his voice layered over everything, no words, nothing but want and need until he comes, sharp and hot and bittersalt on Jensen's tongue.

Jensen eases back to sit on his heels and tries to remember how to breathe. And yeah, he might be a tiny bit smug, but who wouldn't be, with Jared flat on his back on the bed, one arm thrown across his face and not doing too well with the breathing himself.

As soon as Jensen moves though, Jared rallies, leaning up on one elbow and tugging at Jensen with the other hand, until Jensen's sprawled half across him on the bed.

"My turn," Jared says, working Jensen's jeans open, and it's everything Jensen loves about him, direct and clear and just as happy giving as he is receiving. Jensen doesn't know how many guys Jared's been with--for all his aw-shucks-good-old-boy attitude, Jared really does know how to keep secrets when it suits him--but there's nothing fumbling or awkward about how he's stroking Jensen, long fingers moving lightly over every inch of his dick; quick, light brushes that leave Jensen panting for more.

"It'd serve you right if I kept doing you like this," Jared murmurs against Jensen's throat.

"Yeah," Jensen gasps. "It would, but you fucking suck at delayed gratification. You want to see me lose it more than you want payback." Jared laughs, catching Jensen's mouth in a sloppy, messy kiss, slowly tightening his hand around the base of Jensen's cock, and god, Jensen really is going to lose it, fly apart here any second.

"Would you beg, Jen?" Jared whispers, and Jensen's _whining_ , fucking whining, and he can't even be bothered about it. "I could learn to hold off a long time for that."

He drags his nails along the underside of Jensen's cock, and Jensen shudders at the sudden edge in his voice, but then his nails are giving way to quick, rough strokes that have Jensen clawing at the sheets.

Jared hesitates once, an endless second where Jensen thinks he might actually go through with the threat, but he catches Jensen's eye, grinning and murmuring, "Later," and his hand is moving again, not stopping even as Jensen's coming, hard and furious, drawing it out and out and out, until Jensen's the one who can't see, or think, or breathe.

The bed's too small for the two of them, but moving is so far down on Jensen's list of acceptable options that he doesn't care that he's got no place to lay but the tiny bit of space where Jared isn't.

"You were right," Jared mumbles, breath warm against Jensen's ear. "I do suck at delayed gratification."

"Next time," Jensen answers into the solid curve of Jared's shoulder and Jared hums in agreement.

*

It's still dark when Jensen wakes up, cramped and stiff from sleeping mostly on Jared. At least he's not cold, he thinks muzzily, even though the quilt didn't make it through all the thrashing around, because Jared puts out heat like a fucking furnace. And he drools, which Jensen already knew from five year's of naps taken leaning against each other waiting for lighting or sound to be set for a scene, and which explains the damp patch on Jensen's shirt. He's happy to note he doesn't find it adorable all of a sudden, so he's not gone completely insane. Just a little bit. A smidge, his grandma would say.

"Jensen," Jared mutters. "Quit thinking so fucking loud." He spider-walks his fingers up Jensen's spine, like he always does when Jensen's wound too tight on set. Nothing new or different there, Jensen thinks, except for the part where they're half-naked in Jared's guest room. Together.

"Jay..."

"I know, man." Jared's hand is still working its way up and down Jensen's back, but now he thinks it's as much of a comfort thing for Jared as it is for him. Like worry beads, only living, and yes, wow, he definitely needs sleep.

"Okay," Jensen says. Jared relaxes against him, but neither one of them fall back asleep.

"Why now?" Jensen finally asks and Jared shrugs, warm skin and muscle shifting against him.

"I guess... You were here and you've been here and I... didn't want you to leave," Jared says. His fingers are skimming now, laying down careful, easy strokes low on Jensen's back. More with the worry beads, Jensen thinks.

"Why'd you say yes?" Jared's trying to sound casual, but the words come out a little too fast and his fingers stutter out of their smooth rhythm. Just once, but since Jensen's entire brain is focused on where Jared's hand is moving on his skin, it's impossible to miss.

"I didn't want to leave either," Jensen answers, and for something he never quite thought he'd ever get the chance to say, it's maybe the easiest answer he's ever given.

***  
***

...aaaaand now, the morning after: [Friday Morning Quarterbacking](http://archiveofourown.org/works/121091)...

**Author's Note:**

> For such a fluffy bunny, once this thing got its teeth into me, it wouldn't let go. Please, _please_ don't tell me if they get a week for Thanksgiving; I like my own little world, thankyouverymuch. 
> 
> Thanks to A for fixing my grammar and trying her best to clean up my convoluted sentences. I messed with it after she worked her magic on it, so any remaining goofs are most definitely mine.


End file.
